


Sherlock's Bedroom

by Nocturnal_Daydreams



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Brotp, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Other, Slice of Life, lots of photos, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnal_Daydreams/pseuds/Nocturnal_Daydreams





	

It’s late November and dark outside and Sherlock is urging he isn’t at all tired without 3 and a half days sleep. Joan’s waiting it out. He’ll tire out soon, finding a corner to curl up and snooze in like a Jack Russell or a cat.

Joan on the other hand is drinking herbal tea, ignoring Sherlock’s vain attempt to get a rise out of her about British tea. She handed his arse back to him once about British definitely not the be all end all of tea making. She had one that one. But at a price. He knew it annoyed her now.

She was seething most times although anyone bar Sherlock wouldn’t be able to tell as she refused to give any clues. This was the reason why. Overtired Sherlock had not the stamina to get her to argue back and quickly gave up, walking off simply without a word, no emotions shown but with her used to Sherlock he may as well have been huffing and stropping like a child.

She got him a hot chocolate and placed it on a sofa-side table.

Within the minute his counters turned into grumbles and he fell asleep. He did fall asleep on another counter however. This one full of books. That she actually needed.

Joan went about her day and text Marcus later on and when he saw Sherlock he started laughing.

“How long?”

“12 hours. He has another day or two to finish up.”

With that Marcus grabbed him by his feet, she by his shoulders and hefted him along the stairs and into his bedroom. A count up swung him into his own bed. His bedroom was mostly bare but the largest thing in the room was a yet uncompleted studies where he piled them a foot high on the windowsill. Marcus and Joan were talking but he soon noticed she needed to do something and excused himself downstairs.

Joan set to work on taking off his shoes, and socks and then jeans and shirt leaving him in boxers before throwing on a pajama shirt onto him and shimmying him pajama bottoms. She then threw his plain duvet and geometric pattern sheet over him. He instantly turned in, his subconscious thankful for the comfort, the talking one never would be. She rolled her eyes and perfectly threw the laundry into.the pile down the hall. She looked over the room, he could dress how he liked but she’d tell him off if the shirt began to stink. He never took himself out the house in already worn clothes that smelt but inside it would take Joan’s berating to send him back up.

He took amazing care of himself it baffled her how he didn’t do the same to his wardrobe so if he was for the count and not in his own room she’d drag him up, take off all dirty clothing bar boxers and throw on either an old shirt and jogging bottoms or the pajamas she’d bought for him. That he had said thank you for. Very quickly and quite confused but a thank you none the less.

She looked at the dresser, it was almost filled with photos in cheap frames. One photo was them with the police squad, they were stood with Marcus looking very smart. The next was the same photo but looking silly. Sherlock hadn't managed a lot but all the faces including his made her laugh every time she saw it. Another was him and Kitty after her first lock pick on the streets of London. It was incredibly incriminating but also rather cute. Then there was a photoset like in a photo kiosk of her and Sherlock, posing in several different and funny poses in their evening wear when they had apprehended the man with the peg leg. Not many would but she could tell they’d been watching for him in the photos. At every point one of them had looked to their left. One of him and Marcus in the snow that neither of them had known about at the time. One with Alfredo on their rooftop nights, Alfredo had been the one to take it but he managed as was most of the photos his polite barely there smile that most would have thought was uncomfortable but she knew meant he was really really enjoying himself at that moment and having a hard time showing to a picture because he had been taught not to.

She turned to his bedside table to see her poem she left for his 1 year chip. Sitting there like a mantra and underneath a smaller photo than the rest and not in a frame sat a photo from his second first year chip. It had been just after the ceremony and he had been surprisingly good and Joan had give him her present. A very old, very nice looking compass. He knew a lot more about it than she did. But they’d spotted it a long time before and he’d made an offhand comment about wishing they had more time in the case and he would have picked it up. The case was very draining and he completely forgot until a month or so later when it was gone. He was so disappointed Joan was tempted to tell him then she had it but she kept quiet waiting for his second year chip. But once he took again she had decided to wait longer and when it came around he had been shocked beyond believe. It showed. There, the only time in the photos, is a genuinely beaming smile.

This is when Sherlock moved abit. She made sure all was okay with his cover then closed the curtains and left the room. Closing the door behind her.

“Can’t fool me, you sentimental so and so.” She mumbled about him and went downstairs to make Marcus some coffee and talk to him about the night of the police squad photo.


End file.
